I Held Your Name Inside My Mouth
by Day.By.Random.Day
Summary: This was inspired by reapersun's  one of my favorite Sherlock artists  piece  Don't worry, I am definitely writing a sequel to this.  The title of this is from the song "Animal Life" by Shearwater, an amazing song  Please review! Johnlock Sherlock/john
1. I Held Your Name Inside My Mouth

Sherlock couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He couldn't deduce. He couldn't think.

He sat in the middle of the living room of 221b, breathing hard, shaking, loosing his mind. He'd heard it, the shattering of glass, the thump of a body as it hit the floor. John was dead. He was dead and Moriarty had killed him.

Earlier that morning Sherlock was riding in a taxi back from the Scotland Yard, after jailing one of Moriarty's assassins. The case had been simple, this assassin obviously not being one of the master criminal mind's best, or maybe thats what Moriarty had wanted. It was always a game with him.

He was almost to the flat when his phone beeped with a new message. It was from an unknown number

'Play with mine, I'll play with yours. A gun shoots faster than water pours.'

It made no sense to Sherlock, they never did. This was one of the few empty threats he received from Moriarty weekly so he shrugged it off, focusing instead on formulating an experiment on how many days it took for a person's internal intestines to rot before their last meal was lost.

When he arrived home he was met by John lounging in his chair sipping on his mug of tea. He glanced at Sherlock with a small smile which Sherlock returned and then went back to the newspaper he had been reading. Sherlock had continued to his room grabbing a couple nicotine patches and returning to the living room, automatically flopping onto the couch and habitually bringing his clasped fingers to his mouth. He didn't even bother to take of his coat and scarf as he fell into deep thought over the previous case , making sure he had caught everything.

It wasn't till hours later that Sherlock was shaken from his reverie by the shattering glass and the thud. His mind raced quickly deducing that those sounds could only have been caused my a sniper rifles bullet through glass and the thud matching the fall of someone of John's height and weight.

John.

After that moment his head had gone blank. John was gone. His John, his doctor, his friend. He stood, not knowing why, to check upstairs? John was dead and Sherlock never even had a chance to say goodbye. He lost his only true friend. That thought brought him to his knees, unable to move from that spot as his body began to heave.

His face was wet. With...with tears. He was crying and couldn't stop. He didn't even have the power to call for Ms. Hudson, for anybody.

"Sherlock?"

John's distraught voice suddenly filled Sherlock's ears. He looked up to see John standing there, his bag of groceries dropped and spilled on the ground and his face a mix of fear and concern. What the hell had happened that brought Sherlock Holmes to his knees, crying?

Sherlock didn't move, just stared up at John his mouth opening and closing, but no noise coming out. Within moments John was on his knees in front of Sherlock, his hands checking pulse rate and for signs of violence with medical ease.

"Sherlock," he whispered, "Sherlock, what happened?"

"You, you, you...you were"

"I was what Sherlock? Breathe, Sherlock."

"You were dead."

"What?" John asked astounded, utterly confused at why Sherlock would udder such a statement. Sherlock only looked at him, tears surrounding those gorgeous silver irises.

"Oh, oh, oh. Sherlock... I'm here now. I'm alive."

John held Sherlock's hot face, staring intently into his red rimmed eyes. Sherlocks hands drifted across his shoulders, gripping tight to the fabric there to let himself know that this was real, and John, his John, was alive. John only sat there, and continued to hold Sherlock, his thumb stroking against Sherlock's temple in an attempt to relax him.

"I'm here, and I'm never leaving.


	2. Through All the Days Out Wandering

It had taken a good 30 minutes, but John had finally gotten Sherlock from his fetal position on the floor onto the couch. Sherlock's head was in his lap and he was stroking Sherlock's dark hair as the detective tried to process his shock. Every few moments he could feel a tremor pass through Sherlock's lean frame and it made his heart ache to see his invincible friend brought into such a position.

"Just breath, Sherlock." he repeated for the fifth or sixth time that afternoon. Finally Sherlock seemed to respond as he turned his body over to look at John, the red from his eyes finally gone and replaced with a cold, calculating stare.

"Sherlock?" John asked warily not knowing why that hard gaze was aimed at him. Sherlock's eyes softened momentarily as he shook his head slightly and then he closed his eyes, bringing his fingers to his lips.

"John...," Sherlock relished in the moment of being able to say his doctor's name again, knowing he was in living company, before he continued with his question, "John, when did you leave the flat?"

"Just 45 minutes or so after you had zoned out," John replied referring to the deep thought Sherlock had put himself in earlier.

"So, I did not respond?"

"No, of course not."

Sherlock checked his arm to find that he had put 5 nicotine patches on: that must have been why he had been so out of it that he didn't even notice John leave. He looked up to see John staring at him expectantly and Sherlock realized how in the dark John must be. Only coming home to find Sherlock falling apart on the floor with no explanation at all.

"As you know earlier today I stood witness Jonathan McGregory's trial?" John nodded."Well on my way home I received another one of those messages" Sherlock spat and John's eyes narrowed in agreed dislike. "The message was threatening you, John. Your life." John's eyes widened as he began to see where this was going. "Well as you saw I was deep within my mind when you left. And I awoke to hearing a bullet enter your room and a thud of one precisely your size." John now sat there with his mouth hanging open slightly in disbelief.

He rose suddenly knocking Sherlock from his lap. Sherlock rose to follow him, but John rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay," he said softly, not knowing what was up there and not wanting to increase Sherlock's trauma for one day. Sherlock shook his head and moved to get up, but John's pleading eyes had him return to his lying position. "Just for now, lemme check first." John replied and headed up the stairs.

Sherlock itched to get up and follow him, if he was there he could protect John. Having John out of his sight was disconcerting, he couldn't loose him again.

But within minutes he heard John's foot-steps returning down the stairs and let out a sigh of relief as John came to sit on the couch again, Sherlock returning his head to its original spot.

"So?"

"It was a dummy, painted to look like me, in my clothes..."

Sherlock thought it might have been a good thing he didn't go, even seeing a dummy, no matter how irrational, might have caused him emotional distress.

John was staring a head his mouth pressed in a hard line as the feelings of anger grew within in him towards Moriarty and his sick joke. Sherlock didn't enjoy that look, it didn't fit well on John's normally affable face.

"I'm going to kill that bastard," John hissed.

Sherlock sat up staring forward for a moment and then turning his head towards John, an unusual look of pain, possibly sympathy on his face. "John." he said lightly causing John's eyes to drift from the window to Sherlock's suddenly near face. He was so close John could see where the tears had marked his face an hour earlier.

Sherlock put his gloved hand to John's face, who let the weight of his head rest against it.

"I didn't realize I was so important to you..." John murmured.

"Neither did I." Sherlock replied and without a word he brought John's soft lips to his


End file.
